


Warm Summer's Night

by Criccieth



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criccieth/pseuds/Criccieth
Summary: A park in Cardiff wasn't, as it happens, the first time Jack saw Ianto.
Relationships: Lisa Hallett/Ianto Jones
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Warm Summer's Night

**Author's Note:**

> This will, eventually, actually be a part of one of my First Time For Everything chapters. But it's going to take a while to get to that chapter and I realised that this actually stands on it's own as a short story (wow - I CAN do short pieces after all!). So here it is. 
> 
> Lyrics (all in italics) are from "Sweet Child o'Mine" by Guns 'n' Roses and "Enter Sandman" by Metallica. 
> 
> "Who Wants To Live Forever" is by Brian May of Queen. 'Deaky' was/is the nickname of John Deacon, Queen's bass guitarist.

Jack was fairly sure that Hartmann had deliberately booked their Canary Wharf meeting for 8am on a Monday just to be difficult. God knows she’d resisted the meeting for long enough and God knows he doesn’t even **want** to talk to the damn woman, but they need to decide how to handle the new PM - Harriet Jones is getting too close to stuff she’s not supposed to know about which is why he needs to talk to Hartman face-to-face rather than over electronic communications. Jack has started to wonder if someone in One is feeding information to Jones or her new Defence Minister. And that makes him think of something else he needs to raise with Hartman, because there’s something about Saxon that… **itches** at Jack’s old conman senses.

Still, at least she’d finally agreed even if the time selected had forced him to come down to London the day before. He hated being away from Cardiff (especially now that the century had, as the Girl had told him so long ago, ‘turned twice’) but they’d booked him the hotel when they told him the time of the meeting and if he wanted Hartman to listen to him, he’d realised he was going to have to try and play nice. So, he’d accepted the hotel booking and come down on the Sunday. Despite the price the hotel wasn’t terribly amusing and no-one in the bar had caught his eye, so he decided to go for a wander around London. He found it hard at times to keep track of dates (2006 was nearly half gone already), the years starting to blur and it seemed that every time he looked, more and more of the past was wiped away.

It was a warm night, the sky still blue and London was of course busy. Up ahead was a not-very-interesting-looking place called, apparently, The Red Admiral. A big chalk-board outside declared that tonight was the final of the “Acclamation Karaoke”, whatever that was. Not his idea of fun, given that most people who tried karaoke couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But through the open door he heard a woman’s voice singing Glen Miller’s version of ‘Moonlight Serenade” and his feet carried him in before he’d even consciously decided to enter.

He moved through the crowd, using his height and smile to get a bit closer to the small stage. She was a pretty woman, at least fifty if she was a day but there was grace in the way she stood and she swayed her hips and smiled out at them, her voice pure and sweet. Jack let it carry him away to a memory of Rose and the balloon, and the Doctor.

When she finished, he joined in the enthusiastic applause. Someone behind the bar announced that Kelly Asquith was ‘acclaimed’ enough to go through the final and Jack guessed that the decision was based on the volume of applause. He decided to stay and see if she won, and made his way through the crowd to the bar to get a cold drink. Even with the door open, the interior of the pub was hot. He was busy flirting with the barman when they called the name of the next singer and didn’t take it in. By the time he’d got his lemonade and found a place to stand, a figure was walking out onto the stage. A young man, early twenties by Jack’s best guess and within a finger’s width of Jack’s own height. Dark jeans fitted closely over long legs that had the shape of someone who regularly walked miles without thinking about it. A white T-shirt with tattered sleeves showed arms that might not have had massive muscle definition but were certainly nicely toned. The neck of the T-shirt was low enough to show a necklace of something that wasn’t silver or gold. A couple of days’ worth of stubble as dark as the short hair completed what Jack could see and he watched with interest, because even the incomplete picture was well worth looking at.

There was the brief hiss of the karaoke machine and then a guitar riff rose and fell and a drum joined it. Jack wrinkled his noise – metal and rock really weren’t his thing but he wanted to watch the Glen Miller woman and the boy was easy enough on the eye. The kid launched into the song with a clear confidence and one side of his mouth curled up into a knowing half-smile.

_She’s got a smile that it seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories…_

The small crowd was already cheering and Jack knew he wasn’t leaving while there was any chance of this one singing again, because that voice was pure sex. Deep, much deeper than could be expected from his fairly light build, rough and earthy with a rasp to it that had Jack licking his lips and wondering if the singer might be interested in a little company later.

He’d seen enough of these things to know that the singers tended to fall into three categories: the ones who drank themselves/got talked into it, and stood there in various levels of embarrassment and either mumbled their way through the song or failed to hit a single note (Owen, for example); the ones who could sing but couldn’t forget that they were being watched (like Tosh) and the ones who, if life had led them a different way, might have actually _been_ (at least semi-professional) singers. This kid definitely fell into the last category. He didn’t just sing, he performed. He moved with the music, putting his whole body into it - letting the beat and the notes take him outside this tiny crowded pub.

_Sweet child o’mine, sweet love o’mine_

He looked out into the audience and a smile flicked across his face as though he’d just seen someone he was looking for. He had both hands wrapped around the mic while he moved – and those hips could move - and as he started to sing _where do we go now?_ Jack (glancing around the pub) reckoned that about 90% of the women and a decent proportion of the men were thinking exactly the same as Jack himself: ‘out the back, together, if at all possible.”

As he finished singing, the kid spread both arms wide as though to ask ‘how was I?’ and Jack joined in a cheer that was loud enough to drown out the MD’s announcement of the boy’s name. That he was through to the next round was obvious. He grinned, sketched a salute to that same section of the audience he’d smiled at earlier and headed to the back of the stage and through the door there, giving Jack a chance to see that his arse was as good as the rest of him. Jack was definitely staying, and almost certainly going to try and speak to the kid later. The salute implied he’d got some company amongst the audience but that was no deterrent as far as Jack was concerned. The company might be platonic but even if not, it didn’t mean the kid (or the kid **and** his company) weren’t going to be susceptible to a quick flash of the patented Harkness Charm.

The next two acts were ok, but the applause was mild and they didn’t get through. The one after that barely got any applause at all. Apparently, that marked the end of Round Four, and now it was time for the three-act final.

The names of the finalists weren’t called out, the MD seeming to assume everyone knew them. The first of the finalists was another man. He was somewhere in his thirties, with a pleasingly weather-beaten face, a good voice and a nice line in rock ballads. Jack recognised the tune as soon as it started. Now **there** had been a band that knew how to party – or three of them had at least, Deaky being the more retiring type. Jack had got very **very** drunk at one of said parties, said a little too much and wound up having to break out the Retcon. He supposed “Who Wants to Live Forever?” was what you got when a musician and song-writer of Brian May’s calibre turned out to be at least somewhat immune to the stuff.

The woman came back out again but Tine Turner’s “What’s Love Got To Do With It” just didn’t cut it for Jack, though he had the feeling from the applause that these two were neck-and-neck at the moment.

Then the sex-piece came out again. “Enter Sandman” didn’t ring any bells with Jack but from the tone of the guitar phrase that started up, he could see it was the same metal/rock style as the earlier one. A heavy drum rhythm picked up and the kid started moving with the beat. Just the twitch of a foot and a hip to start with and then the upper body joined in and the whole pleasing package began to move (not swaying though. Jack wasn’t quite sure what you’d describe it as, but ‘swaying’ was far too clean a word for how that kid was moving) and he lifted the mic to his mouth.

_Say your prayers, little one; and don’t forget my son; to include everyone._

Yeah, that voice. Jack **really** liked that voice. If the kid sang like that, what did he sound like in bed? And more importantly, how did Jack go about finding out? He let the sound of it wash over him as he watched the kid move like he knew exactly what he wanted his body to do and was loving doing it. Jack started really hoping he was going to get the chance to at least throw the kid an offer.

The boy moved to the front of the stage before he crouched down and reached out a hand, his voice dropping even deeper.

_Take my hand, it’s off to never-never land._

A few moments later, Jack enjoyed watching the long, lean body slowly unfold as the singer growled out another line.

_Hush little baby, don’t say a word; and never mind that voice you heard. It’s just the beasts under your bed; in your closet; in your head._

Until he was standing, legs straight and body arched backwards, T-shirt riding up to show a nearly flat stomach, face turned to the ceiling and the mic held just above his mouth. His throat was a long, straight column that Jack really wanted to have under his lips.

_Exit light, enter night_

All too soon, as far as Jack’s viewing pleasure was concerned, the song came to an end. As one, the crowd came to its feet, applause flooding the stage – and Jack’s mobile, tucked into his hip pocket, buzzed. Yanking it out, he recognised the number and swore as he shouldered his way through the crowd to the door.

Hartmann’s PA had for some reason decided that 10pm on the Sunday was the best time to remind Jack of the scheduled meeting. Then he kept him on the phone for another five minutes to try to get him to agree to add various items to tomorrow’s agenda – all of which involved reducing Torchwood Three’s freedoms to one degree or another. By the time he finally ended the call, Jack was snarling with frustration. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and decided to go back into the Admiral, because he hadn’t spotted the kid with the sexy voice amongst the people who’d come out of the pub, and some flirting was exactly what he needed to get back into a good mood. When he got inside, however, the whole thing was clearly over. The lights had gone up, the stage was empty and the now-thinner crowd was mostly sitting at the scattered tables, chatting over drinks. _Damn_. _May as well head back to the hotel._

Before leaving, he decided to head for the sign at the back of the pub that declared ‘Toilets’ – not to pick anyone up, but for necessity. The door lead into a poorly-lit corridor containing three doors – the two on the left with the Gents and Ladies signs over them and the one on the right with a sign over it saying ‘stage’. A slender Black girl was just vanishing into the Ladies and a beefy guy with broad shoulders was leaning, arms folded, against the wall by the stage door. _Hmm…_ Jack thought. The doorman didn’t appeal, but if he was standing there, maybe the kid was still on the premises.

As Jack came back out of the Gents, the stage door slammed open and the sex-piece himself came out - grinning from ear to ear, dripping with sweat and clearly buzzing with adrenalin. The light here was dim, but it was enough to see that Jack hadn’t been wrong – the boy was gorgeous.

“Leese?!” he yelled. Jack hadn’t made it more than one step towards him when the door to the Ladies opened and the girl who he’d spotted a few minutes ago came out. She saw the boy, gave a yelp of pure delight and threw herself at him. He caught her round the waist, spinning them both round with a whoop of laughter and then lifted her until she perched astride his hips, head slightly above his and hands fisted into the back of his sodden t-shirt.

“I won!” he said, his tone somewhere between disbelief and exuberance. “I bloody won!” The accent, Jack realised with amusement, was Welsh – and either Cardiff or nearby. The girl laughed.

“I knew you’d win!” she said. A Londoner, from her own accent. She grinned at him. “I’ve changed my mind, love. **This** is how you should keep us if we lose our jobs.” She kissed him, intense and deep, hands threading through his sweat-spiked hair as his own hands shifted - one to her shoulder and the other behind her head. The doorman watched with an amused smile. Jack hesitated and then decided to pretend interest in the corkboard on the wall, which held the usual business cards for local taxi ranks, pizza firms and offers of ‘good fun’. After all, from what he’d seen so far, they made a **very** attractive couple and he personally found threesomes more fun when he wasn’t the only man involved. You never knew your luck. Behind him he heard the girl again, a mischievous note now in her voice.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Jack looked over his shoulder. She was still sitting astride her boyfriend’s hips, hands now locked together behind his neck and although he could only see them in profile they were obviously smiling into each other’s eyes. “I told you they’d all be drooling over you, wanting to be the one who got to go home with you.” He actually blushed, a startling contrast to the way he’d sung and moved. She giggled and it was such an intriguing (not to say promising) combination that Jack was just about to start walking over to them when she brought one hand round to cup the side of his face.

“Ah, but you belong to me, don’t you?” she said softly, love in her voice and a grin on her face. There was a moment’s silence and then the boy’s face lit up with a stunning smile.

“Always,” he said. “That’s a promise”.

“You always keep your promises,” she said and he pulled her close to kiss her again before sliding his mouth along her cheek to her ear. Jack couldn’t hear what he said but the girl laughed.

“You’ve got a wicked mouth on you, Y.…” Whatever she was about to say, it was swallowed by another kiss, and then Jack wasn’t sure what the boy did or said but his girlfriend laughed and dropped her legs from him to stand upright. She grabbed his hand.

“Home!” she said, and her intent was clear in her voice. **“Now!”** She started to move backwards along the corridor, towing him laughing along with her for a pace or two before she paused for a second and looked up at him. Even in the poor light, Jack could see her face shone with pride and love. “God, I love you like this. You need to do this more often.”

As they came towards the door back into the pub, it was pushed open from the other side and three giggling middle-aged women came in and almost pushed Jack into the wall as the young couple darted past them and back into the pub.

He didn’t follow them, because they were so wrapped up in each other that he knew they neither needed or wanted anyone else.

END


End file.
